Patchwork
Sam Jenkins was reading in his office late one night, when someone banged on the door. He opened it to find Johnny Lancer, white-faced. There was a blood-soaked bandanna tied around his arm and a bruise on his cheekbone.
"You're getting to be one of my best customers," Sam said, quickly assessing the young man's condition. "Come in, son, and let's get you patched up."
"No, Doc, you have to come quick," Johnny said, trying to pull away. "Scott's hurt bad."
"What happened?"
"I shot him," Johnny said. "Can you hurry, please, Doc?"
Sam pulled him inside. "Sit down before you fall down and tell me what happened."
"It doesn't matter about me," Johnny said impatiently. "Doc, Scott needs you quick."
"Don't worry, I'll take care of Scott," Sam said, pushing him toward the examining room. "Sit, John. I don't want you to pass out on me on the way back to Lancer."
"I'm not going back to Lancer," Johnny said flatly.
The doctor looked at him thoughtfully, reaching for his wrist to take his pulse. He unwound the bandana twisted carelessly around Johnny's upper arm, and scowled at what he found underneath.
"This hasn't even been cleaned," he said angrily. "And you've still got a bullet in there."
"It don't matter," Johnny said, wincing as Sam probed the ugly wound. "Doc, leave it."
"I'm not going to leave it," Sam said. "Shut up, Johnny, and stop fighting me. The quicker I get this cleaned up, the quicker I'll be on my way to Scott."
Johnny shut up, but his eyes were wary. "I don't need that," he protested as Sam poured laudanum into a glass and mixed it with water.
"Oh, yes, you do," the doctor said. "I'm not taking that bullet out of you unless you drink it _ and I'm not leaving for Lancer until I do. Your choice."
"Doc, you're wasting time," Johnny said impatiently.
"No, John, you're wasting time," Sam said. "Let's get this over with, okay, so I can go and take care of your brother."
Johnny sighed, but he swallowed the medicine. Within minutes, his eyes slid shut and Doc probed his arm carefully. He extracted a bullet, dropped it in a basin, and set about cleaning the wound thoroughly before he bandaged it and splinted Johnny's arm. He checked Johnny's pulse again, shaking his head a little, and covered him with blankets. Then he stuffed some supplies in his bag and headed for the sheriff's office, pounding on the door until Val appeared.
"Johnny Lancer is in my back room," he said abruptly. "I want you to stay with him just in case he wakes up before I get back."
"What happened?" Val asked blearily, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
"I don't know," Sam said. "But I have to get out to Lancer. I just took a bullet out of Johnny's arm and he says Scott is hurt worse."
"Who shot them?" Val asked.
"Johnny said that he shot Scott," Sam said.
"No way," Val protested. "He wouldn't."
"Val, please, would you go over and keep an eye on him," the doctor said. "I'd take him back with me, but I don't want to move him right now."
"Sure," Val said.
Sam headed for the ranch, wondering what he'd find there. Johnny knew a lot about gunshots _ a lot more than any boy his age should, Sam thought a little sadly _ and he'd been in a panic about Scott. But he also knew that Johnny tended to be highly protective of his older brother, just as Scott was protective of Johnny. Those two had gotten closer than anyone would have predicted, knowing their different backgrounds. Sam just couldn't imagine Johnny shooting Scott, not on purpose anyway.
The lights in the hacienda were blazing when he drove into the yard, and Murdoch Lancer met him at the door.
"Where's Johnny?" he demanded.
"In bed, where he belongs," Sam retorted. "Why did you let him ride into town with a bullet in his arm?"
"What? Johnny had a bullet in his arm?"
"Didn't you see him?"
"Not for more than a minute," Murdoch said. "He rode in here with Scott, handed him off, and took off to get you."
"How badly is Scott hurt?"
"He's got a bullet in his side," Murdoch said grimly. "Which his brother apparently put there. He's lost a lot of blood. Teresa is looking after him, upstairs."
Murdoch was waiting downstairs in the great room when Sam finished up with Scott.
"How is he?" Murdoch growled.
"It looked a lot worse than it really is," Sam said. "The bullet deflected off his ribs and missed his lung. He lost a lot of blood and his ribs are cracked, but he should be okay. He'll need to spend a few days in bed, and take it easy for a while after that, but he should be all right."
"Thank God for that." Murdoch poured drinks and handed one to the doctor. "What about Johnny?" he asked belatedly.
"Johnny also lost a lot of blood and I'm pretty sure he broke his arm," Sam said. "It's fractured, at least. I put a splint on it for now. I can't put it in plaster because of the bullet wound Murdoch, what happened?"
Murdoch scowled. "All I know is that Johnny shot his brother," he said.
"Johnny told me that too. Who shot Johnny?"
Murdoch shook his head. "I don't know," he said slowly. "I didn't even realize he was hurt too."
"You couldn't have looked very hard," Sam said.
"Scott was bleeding so much," Murdoch said. "They were both covered with blood when Johnny rode in. And Johnny didn't say anything. You know how he is, Sam. He never admits that he's hurt."
Sam was getting angry. "You should know how he is too, by now, Murdoch," he said. "And you should know Johnny would never hurt Scott on purpose."
"I never know what Johnny will do and won't do," Murdoch said.
"Then I'll tell you one thing he says he won't do," Sam said quietly. "He won't come back to Lancer. Just what did you say to your son tonight, Murdoch?"
Murdoch turned red.
***
Patchwork, Part 2
Scott came around slowly. He looked over at Murdoch, sitting in the chair by the bed.
"Johnny?" he said weakly.
"Take it easy, son," Murdoch said, pouring water into a glass and holding it for him.
"Where's Johnny?" Scott asked, after he'd taken a few sips. "Is he all right?"
"Doc's taking care of him," Murdoch said.
"I'm sorry," Scott said. "All my fault."
"What do you mean?" Murdoch said. "Johnny said he shot you."
"He was just firing back," Scott said. "He didn't know it was me."
"Are you telling me that you shot Johnny?" Murdoch said, stunned.
Scott flushed. "I can't believe I did anything so stupid," he admitted. "He was target shooting out by the creek. I thought I'd play a joke on him, get the jump on him just for once, but I tripped and dropped my rifle, coming down the hill. It went off and got him in the arm."
"So he shot you," Murdoch said grimly.
"He couldn't see me," Scott said. "I was still in the woods. He spun around, and fired back into the trees."
"You could have been killed," Murdoch said.
"I could have killed him," Scott pointed out. "Can I see him?"
"You're not supposed to get up," Murdoch said.
"Just for a minute," Scott pleaded.
Murdoch looked down. "Johnny isn't here, Scott," he finally admitted.
"Where is he?"
"He's at the doctor's office in Green River. He rode into town to get Sam for you. Sam patched him up and put him to bed there."
"You let him go for the doctor? But he's hurt too," Scott protested.
"I didn't know that," Murdoch said.
Scott stared at his father. "I have to talk to him," he said, struggling to sit up.
"You're not going anywhere," Murdoch said, putting a hand on his chest. "Take it easy, son."
"It's important," Scott insisted. "Murdoch, Johnny needs to know this wasn't his fault."
"I figured I'd ride into town in the morning," Murdoch said. "I, uh, I need to talk to him anyway."
Scott's smoky eyes locked on his father's guilty face. "You yelled at him already, didn't you?" he said. "Without knowing anything at all about what happened, you decided to blame Johnny."
"Johnny told me that he shot you," Murdoch said, getting a little exasperated. "And that's all he told me. Just what was I supposed to think, Scott? You know what your brother did before he came here."
Scott shook his head angrily, and turned his face away from his father.
Val was snoring in a chair in Doc's office. Sam looked from him to the empty bed, and sighed. He slammed the door and Val snorted and came awake in a hurry.
"Fine watchman you turned out to be," Sam grumbled.
Val's eyes widened as he took in the empty bed. "Damn it," he said. "I just closed my eyes for a minute, Doc."
"We have to find him," Sam said.
"Do you think he headed back to Lancer?" Val said.
"No," the doctor said. "He and Murdoch had words."
"Damn," Val said. "Don't you worry, Doc. I'll find him."
Murdoch Lancer pulled his horse up, looking down on the ranch in the moonlight. He had decided to head for town without waiting until morning. He didn't know exactly what to say to his younger son, but he did know for sure that he didn't want to lose him. Not ever again.
His eyes narrowed as he spotted another rider crossing the far side of the valley. He was headed north toward the mountains, away from the house. Murdoch couldn't tell for sure at this distance, but it looked like the horse was a palomino. Murdoch hesitated, looking at the road to town, and then cut cross-country.
Johnny's arm was throbbing and he felt like he was going to be sick, long before he reached the line cabin. He figured he'd hole up for a few days, at least long enough to find out if his brother was okay, and then head south. He slid off Barranca, and his knees buckled. He grabbed at the stirrup to stay on his feet and led the horse into the shed.
"Sorry, amigo," he said, when the palomino complained. "I know you're tired and I should brush you good, but I just can't tonight. Tomorrow, maybe, okay?"
The golden horse whinnied, and nudged his shoulder. Johnny's breath whistled through his teeth, and he sat down abruptly on a hay bale. His stomach churned and he leaned over, retching miserably. He collapsed, exhausted, into the hay when he was finished.
Murdoch was puzzled. He was sure the rider had headed for the line cabin, but there was no smoke coming from the stovepipe and no light showing.
He led his horse over to the shed and froze. Barranca was there, still saddled, and there was a limp figure sprawled in the hay at the golden horse's feet. Murdoch dropped his reins and moved carefully. The palomino showed his teeth as soon as he approached Johnny.
"It's okay," the big rancher said soothingly to the horse.
Barranca skittered away from him and reared up but the sharp hooves came down without touching the body on the ground.
"Johnny?" Murdoch said cautiously. "Son, wake up."
Johnny didn't move. Murdoch looked at the horse, which was staring at him suspiciously.
"I'm not going to hurt him," Murdoch said aloud, feeling ridiculous. "Easy." He edged a little closer, and the horse shook its head and stamped its feet warningly.
If it had been any other horse, Murdoch would have been tempted to shoot it, but he knew his son would never forgive him for that.
"Johnny?" he said again.
This time, he was rewarded with a stifled moan and Johnny sat up, looking green.
"Son, move away from your horse," Murdoch said. "You need help and he won't let me near you."
Johnny tried to focus on him. "Murdoch?" he said groggily. "What are you doing here?"
"Looking for you, son," Murdoch said, reaching for him cautiously, one eye on Barranca. The horse suddenly backed away. Murdoch lunged for his son and pulled him clear.
"Let me go," Johnny mumbled, trying to push Murdoch's arm away. "Going to be sick again."
"That's okay," Murdoch said, tightening his grip and ignoring the pain shooting through his back. Johnny was sick again, but there wasn't much of anything left in his stomach to bring up. Murdoch held him while he heaved and propped him up against the wall when he'd finally finished. He handed him a canteen and Johnny took a small sip, closing his eyes.
"Scott okay?" Johnny asked after a few minutes silence.
"He will be," Murdoch said. "He's better than you are right now."
"I'm okay," Johnny said.
"You always say you're okay, John," Murdoch said, sitting down next to his son. "Why didn't you tell me that you were shot too?"
"I've had worse," Johnny said. His shoulders were tense. "It don't matter."
"Yes, it does matter," Murdoch said. "Johnny, it's important to me, do you hear me? And it's important to Scott too. You think he's getting much of the rest he needs tonight, wondering if you're all right?"
Johnny's head dropped. "Sorry," he said.
"No, I'm sorry, son," Murdoch said softly. "It's my fault, not yours. I should have known you wouldn't hurt him. And if I was any kind of a father, you'd know that I care about you just as much as I care about your brother."
"Don't expect you to," Johnny said, not looking up.
"Johnny," Murdoch sighed, and put an arm around his son as he suddenly slumped against him. He looked down at Johnny's bowed head, and flashed back to a small, laughing boy who had once leaned against him so confidently. This Johnny didn't have any of that little boy's trust in his father. This time, Murdoch would have to earn it.
"Johnny!" Val shouted, outside, and Murdoch looked up as the sheriff appeared in the door.
"Shhh!" he said.
"Is he okay, Mr. Lancer?"
Murdoch shook his head. "Not yet, Val," he said. "But he will be. Help me get him home."
THE END
Whistle, June 2004